Decoding McGee
by scaringkids
Summary: 4 years after leaving NCIS, McGee returns from active duty in the Navy. Still recovering from his experiences, Gibbs and the team, along with Corporal Damon Worth, must get him to speak about his time in the Navy SEALs. Bumps in the road slow the journey, but broken computers, ghosts, and undercover missions can't stop the MRT from finally decoding Timothy McGee.
1. McGee

Hey guys, this is my first fanfiction on here so if I make any weird mistakes don't take it out on me.

I wanted to do a fic about McGee and him joining the army or something.

HOPE YOU ENJOY

Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize from NCIS. Damn.

McGee 2.0

May 2015

It was just an average day in the Bullpen. Well, as average as it can get with a perpetually empty seat right there in the corner across from Gibbs' desk. After McGee left 4 years ago, that desk had sat unoccupied, Abby and Gibbs never approving of any of the temporary replacements who came in for only a month or two before moving on.

Today was a slow day, DiNozzio and Ziva at their desks doing paperwork following the previous case they had just wrapped up, Gibbs trotting up the stairs to MTAC, and the Director standing at the top of them watching the level below like a hawk.

Just then, the elevator dinged and the chrome doors slid open, revealing none other than Damon Werth, clad in his usual jeans, T-shirt, and work boots. He sauntered out of the elevator and over to McGee's desk, sitting down and putting his feet up.

"Damon! What the hell are you doin' here, buddy?" Tony said smiling. Ziva was already on her feet, advancing on Worth for a hug.

"Oh, ya know, just passin' through. Meetin' a friend. How have you guys been?" Werth drawled, grinning from ear to ear, slowly standing to catch Ziva in his arms.

"Well, Gibbs is not here at the moment, but I-"

"Not Gibbs, Ziva. It's not Gibbs I'm waitin' for." He said as the elevator opened once more, revealing yet another tall, well built man, clothed in jeans, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket, reflective Aviators obscuring his face. The newcomer's face broke into a brilliant grin when he looked over at Werth.

"Werth! Long time no see, man!" He said as he dropped his duffel on the ground, hugging Damon like a long lost brother.

Neither of the the two men realized that Gibbs had just walked down, or had seen Ziva and Tony's confused facial expressions.

"Snap out of it DiNozzio. You too, David." Gibbs sighed as he slapped Tony upside the head. He then turned to the pair of giant men, who were chatting happily. "Gentlemen."

Werth and the mystery man snapped to attention, spouting off a loud "Sir."

"At ease, soldiers. Worth it's good to see you," Gibbs said as he shook Damon Werth's large hand. "Who is this friend you brought with you?"

"Dude, take those damned things off." Damon said to his friend. Once the Aviators were taken away, Ziva's hair replaced them, once again obscuring the man's face.

"_Tim!_" Ziva screamed, drawing the attention of the entire office. Ziva David never screamed like that. Ever. Obviously, she had seen it was McGee faster than anyone else had. "What happened to you?!"

Laughing, McGee pried Ziva off of him, revealing himself to his ex-coworkers. "Hey Ziva. You like what you see then?" That prompted a smile and a nod from her. "Well, I just got off of active duty. Damon here was my bunk mate in the Navy my first year on duty." Sensing confusion from DiNozzio and Ziva, he explained, "You remember how I just up and left that day 4 years ago? Well that was the day I found out my father had been killed on duty. I had made a promise to him a while back, back when we were still talking, that if he ever died, that I would either take care of Sarah or take care of my country. Since Sarah had a job already, I quit NCIS to enlist. Our country needed another great man on the front lines, and if I couldn't be that, I could at least help." This gave way to a Hoo-Rah from both Gibbs and Werth, a gasp from Ziva, and a "Wait, What" from Tony.

Chuckling, Tim continued, "I made it up the ranks and was offered a position in SEAL Team 7. I was never able to visit before that because my sister had gotten a job in New York, so I always chose to visit her there." He paused for a second, remembering something, "Shit, Abby must be pissed."

"_McGee, you stupid bastard!_" A Goth woman in platform boot came stomping into the room, rip-roaring mad. Tim just stood there, smiling as Abby, standing at 5'7", 5'10" with the platform boots on, started throwing punches at his huge, muscular 6'3" frame. Having been slightly overweight and always hunched over during his time at NCIS, Tim always seemed smaller than he actually was.

Suddenly stopping, Abby looked at McGee quizzically. "You got more tattoos, didn't you?"

Grinning, Tim gathered the forensic scientist in his arms, "I sure did, Abbs. Wouldn't be a SEAL without a few scars and tats."


	2. Bullets and Ballistics

Hey guys!

Just a little side note here, but I'm writing this almost completely on my iPod, so try to ignore the sporadic updating schedule. Also, I'm a freshman in high school so my schedule isn't ideal for writing.

_**Note: I do not own a laptop and do not have internet connection in my room. **_

A/N: I did a bit of editing and I would like to thank sirscreen for being cool and helping with some details. Whoop

Disclaimer: If I owned NCIS, McGee would be super badass and Tony and Ziva would be together. BUT I don't.

McGee v2 Chapter 2

_Date: May 7, 2015 _

_Time: 04:15 AM _

_Location: Damon Werth's apartment_

McGee shot up from his position on Werth's couch, eyes wide, breathing spastic. A cold sweat dripped down his back, caused by the horrid dream- no, nightmare- he had just woken up from. Looking around trying to find his team, McGee finally realized that he was instead on Damon Werth's extremely crappy couch.

"Damn," he mumbled, scrubbing his face roughly with his hands, trying to wash away the images of his team. His team, and that damned ambush.

'Well, since I'm already up, I might as well do something productive.' Tim thought as he got up and grabbed his Army Surplus duffle. Quietly rummaging through it, he finally found a clean black shirt, tossing it onto the coffee table next to the couch in Damon's living room. Soon, a small pile of clean clothing was on the table.

Tim began stripping off his remaining clothing from the night before, his jeans and boxers. Bending down and grabbing a new pair of boxers and running shorts from the coffee table at his shins, McGee's dog tags swung down from his neck, slapping into each other noisily. Wincing at the loud sound, he quickly slid his fitted, white t-shirt over his chest, effectively hiding the various scars, tattoos, and the 3 bullet wounds spread out across his upper chest.

Sitting back on the immensely stiff couch cushion, Tim began lacing up his brown combat boots, currently one of the only two pairs of shoes he owns, the other still sitting in his locker with the rest of his shit at the Navy Yard. 'Damn. I have to get that sometime. Those crazy bastards might take somethin' from my locker,' he thought, distracting himself from the memories still fresh in his mind. Signing, he placed his hands on his thighs, slowly standing up and snatching his iPod and a spare t-shirt off of the low table in front of him and quietly walking across the apartment's hardwood floor to the triple bolted door.

'Damon, will you ever shut up?' McGee thought as he crept out of the door, leaving Werth and his truck engine snoring behind.

Once out of the complex, Tim jogged down the street, with only the constant rasp of his breathing and the slap of rubber on concert to entertain his eardrums.

'Goddamn it, DiNozzio. Why did you have to convince everyone to go out for drinks last night?' McGee thought as he swerved around a random street corner. Werth would be either hung-over or completely passed out when he got back, but Tim didn't mind. After everything Damon did for him, he could at least take care of the stupid asshole when he got drunk. 'Shit-faced, more like,' he thought to himself grudgingly, remembering how many shots Werth and DiNozzio had managed to down before Gibbs, Ziva, and him brought them home, preventing them from inflicting further harm on their livers.

After jogging for who knows how long, Tim finally came to a halt, outside the front doors of a local gym. 'Perfect,' he thought, slowly descending the staircase leading into the underground lobby of 2-6-5, a crooked grin spreading across his face.

_Date: May 7, 2015 _

_Time: 06:30 AM _

_Location: 2-6-5 Gym_

Sweat dripping through his shirt, McGee took one of his headphones out of his ear, letting it dangle limply from his collar. Slowly walking towards the locker room, he pulled out his iPod and paused the current song.

The fluorescent lights in the shitty underground locker rooms glared off of the iPod's screen, prompting Tim to shove it into his back pocket. Clawing at a spot of his shirt on his upper back, he tugged the fabric over his head, dropping it on the wooden bench next to the lockers.

Searching around for his extra shirt, McGee dropped into a push-up, eyeing the ground suspiciously. 'Where the hell did my other shirt go? I swear I dropped it right...'

"You lookin' for this, McGee?"

Looking up, Tim caught sight of a smirk, one that could only belong to Ziva David. Who just happened to be using his nice, clean shirt as a towel.

"Well shit Ziva, I need that shirt! Do I look like I would parade home half naked?" Tim complained, getting up from the floor and dusting off his hands. Looking at Ziva's facial expression, he immediately knew that he wouldn't be getting the shirt back. 'Crap'

"Actually, I think I have seen someone doing that... Oh! It was Corporal Werth, your best friend. He said you often came with him when you were serving." That damn smirk was still there.

'Christ, DiNozzio what did you do to her?'

"You're point exactly, David?" Tim's face sported a seemingly practiced, DiNozzio grade smirk in return.

After a few seconds, Ziva looked him squared in the eye and asked, "Do you even need this then?" She then burst out laughing, like it was some sort of funny joke.

Tim started to get a bit impatient with Ziva, trying to grab at the flimsy material while she was preoccupied with her chuckling. Taken slightly by surprise, Ziva barely missed sidestepping Tim's large hand.

Raising her eyebrow at him, Ziva swiftly tucked half the shirt in the back waistband of her jeans, knowing full well that McGee was too shy and awkward to make a move once she did.

'Oh, so she thinks I won't? Ha, I ain't walkin' around with no shirt on, that's for sure.' McGee thought, half amused that she still thought of him as that shy Probie from years ago, half saddened that he wasn't as innocent as she thought. Calmly walking up to her, chests almost flush, McGee wrapped his left arm around Ziva's body and snatched his t-shirt out of her waistband.

"Gotcha." Tim said, smirking as he jerked his shirt over his head, effectively covering his slightly sweaty torso. Ziva gaped at him, tremendously confused at why he did that, and when he gained the courage to even _think_ to do that. "David, close your mouth. You can catch a lot more than flies like that, ya know?" He sniggered as he bent over to the bench and clutched the sweaty shirt he had discarded earlier, wrapping it around his neck as he stood back up.

As Tim practically swaggered out of the dimly lit locker room, Ziva stood pondering the new McGee. What had happened during his time on duty that made him change so much? Where did the adorable, awkward Timothy go?

Catching up to him after grabbing her sports bag from her registered locker, Ziva fell into stride with Tim, virtually jogging next to him as he walked to the staircase leading up and out of the underground boxing gym. Silence overtook the pair as they jogged up the immense set of stairs, Ziva leaping lightly up them, McGee nearly _prancing_. Stopping almost two thirds of the way up the stairs, Ziva stared dumbfounded at his bizarre antics.

Turning around swiftly as he cleared the top step, Tim chuckled, a deep, rough rumble, pulling Ziva out of her daze. 'Whoa. Okay then, this is most definitely new,' she thought, shaking her head, slapping her sneakers on the concrete steps as she regained her place next to Tim. Nodding slightly in farewell, Ziva turned and began running down the street, back to her apartment downtown.

McGee stood for a second, regarding her retreating figure with curiosity and relief, knowing she didn't look deeper into his change of persona. Sighing, he turned the opposite way, and started jogging towards Damon's apartment, silently praying he wouldn't have to clean up any puke this early in the morning.

_Date: May 7, 2015 _

_Time: 10:42 AM_

_Location: Abby's Lab, NCIS_

_"__McGee!_ Are you telling me that you haven't touched a computer for more than 20_ minutes_ in _2 years?_" Abby cried, unable to process what had just happened to her spare desktop computer.

Let's just say there was a brutal kill screen and a tiny trail of smoke unfurling from the hardware under the desk.

"Well, ya see, Abbs…" Tim trailed off, uncomfortably scratching his neck. He flashed a crooked grin as Abby took hold of his shoulders and turned him away from the destroyed computer, situating him in front of a lab desk. After disappearing in the ballistics lab for a few minutes, she returned carrying a gun and a black cloth.

Eyes wide, eyebrows raised, McGee turned to Abby, "My old SIG, Abbs? You kept this? Someone could have used it instead of it collecting dust over the past few years." Swiveling his chair back to the desk, he picked up the rag and began meticulously cleaning the old pistol. _Very slowly._

'Would she mind if I went to the firing range? Where did she…' Spotting a cute skull shaped Post-it note pressed to the far edge of the desk, McGee realized that Abby had left the lab.

"_Timmy, I ran out for my lunch break with the Duckman. Keep the gun, it's yours anyway."_

Damn. Abby never stopped being the best. Tim got up and grabbed the sticky note, along with the SIG, and walked over to the elevator. Once inside the elevator, McGee jabbed the button for the floor housing the firing range. 'Thank god I remember this place like it's tattooed on the back of my hand. Now that would be embarrassing if I managed to get lost.'

Stepping out onto the linoleum flooring of the firing range, which took up an entire floor of the office building, McGee walked calmly over to grab a pack of .9 mm bullets and a pair of noise reduction headphones, slightly jumpy over being able to fire _his_ gun again.

Standing at the table separating the shooter from the target, Tim commenced on cleaning his weapon once more, a habit that had formed during his time on active duty. Cleaning his weapon while out with his team was very hard to do, therefore he took the time to clean it more than once when he had time to.

_Bang. Bang. Bang bang bang. Bang._ Bullets flew in rapid succession towards the paper target, striking only through the head and the heart. The paper in the head area was completely obliterated. Breathing only slightly off, McGee lowered the SIG just below eye level, intent on assessing the damage he had inflicted on the sheet of paper held up in front of him.

_Bang._ Tim's long awaited final shot rang throughout the room, sailing straight through the chest wound and ricocheting off of the metal wall behind the ruined target. "Bang bang, motherfuckers." McGee whispered bitterly, the sound of the three words resonating off of the metal walls.

Placing the pistol down, he took off the sound cancelling headphones and dropped them on the counter as well. Walking out of the firing range, he punched the down button on the elevator with a trembling hand. As the sleek metal doors slid shut behind him, McGee flicked the Emergency switch, often used by Gibbs, powering down the elevator and preventing anyone from entering on the next level down.

Backing up to the wall of the elevator, he slid down into a sitting position, his head trapped in his shaky hands.

"_Bang bang, motherfuckers." He said with a grin only he could pull off after such an insane shootout._

"_Damn straight, man." McGee replied, wiping sweat and grim off of his face, sitting down next to the crazy bastard he called a best friend._

_Tim's team was elite, the best of the Navy he was told once. They were used everywhere. On land, in the air, and on sea. They weren't just SEALs, they were soldiers fighting for their country. None had much family, never married nor in relationships. It was best that way._

"_When we get back to base camp, I'm so gunna kill you in poker, buddy," the other guy sitting next to McGee said. Holy hell, was this guy somethin' else. He could bust a trainee's balls in SEAL training one minute, then be tailin' after Kasey like a love sick puppy the next._

_They were all sitting in a crude semi-circle, 6 men in total, guns held flush with their chests, ears perked. The bullets had stopped firing, sending false hope to the trainees unfortunate enough to have been dragged on this scouting mission. The ambush was unexpected to say the least, forcing the small group to hunker down into the side of a ditch they found in the desert they were trudging through. 3 other men from Tim's team were with him, chatting away quietly while the remaining 2 soldiers sat fidgeting next to them._

_Tim looked around at the desert, noticing the dark figures had disappeared into the twilight. One of the trainees had noticed too, apparently, due to the fact that he had jumped to his feet, already starting to climb out of the makeshift trench. _

"_No, wait!" McGee harshly whispered at the man, lunging forward in an effort to grab the man's ankle and pull him back down. The young man turned, caught off guard by Tim's odd sounding whisper-shout, leaving him exposed momentarily._

_A shot rang out, and a second later, the man fell._

McGee suddenly turned and punched the metal plated wall of the elevator. No, he couldn't relive that. What happened next was too gruesome and scarring. He had enough already that haunted his brain, keeping him up at night. He didn't need to remember those poor trainees.

Getting up off of the floor, Tim dusted off his pants, completely disregarding the swollen and bleeding knuckles he acquired just seconds before. Turning the elevator on once again, he collected himself as the elevator whirred back to life, carrying him down the last few feet to his destination.

Taking a deep breath, McGee squared his shoulders and walked off of the elevator, the sleek silver doors closing behind him.


End file.
